


Cheap Tricks and Little Truths

by Shaitanah



Category: Being Human
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaitanah/pseuds/Shaitanah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What’s a little bloodshed on the way to glory?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheap Tricks and Little Truths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> **Disclaimer** : _Being Human_ belongs to Toby Whithouse and the BBC.

It’s been a while since Cutler had a decent meal. Over five litres of lifeblood standing before him, and even though this blood doesn’t call out, this blood has no allure, he can still hear a heart pumping it and he feels hungry like he could swallow a dog – except if he tries this one, it will burn him from the inside.

There was a girl, a few weeks back, who said:

“Don’t you sometimes wish that something happened?”

“Like what?” He was never much for small talk. He wished a great deal of things, but he didn’t want to be one of those villains who voiced their every step.

She gave a jerky shrug. “I dunno. Anything. I sometimes envy the survivors of those hurricanes, you know, or the bombings. Because they have stories to tell. I just want to shake things up somehow.”

He imagined a great wind blowing, panes of glass shattering in their window-frames, trees bending low to the ground, as if bowing before the inevitability of the element.

He smiled.

“Not really,” he said, and thought: _I used to_ , and added: “I can make it happen.”

“What?”

“I can shake things up. Right now.”

She grinned. Maybe she thought he was joking. 

“No survival guarantees, though,” he said, and–

He always hated getting blood all over himself, especially if there was no one to lick it off. Bottles are so much more hygienic.

There’s that, and now there’s the vessel of poisonous blood right in front of him, and Cutler is biting at the corner of his mouth so hard that he nicks it and tastes his own blood. There used to be blood in his mouth all the time. Back when–

“Sorry,” he says, and smiles. “I drift off sometimes.”

“If it’s a bad time…” Tom trails off.

He looks a bit worse for the wear than Cutler remembers, which is a feat since their first encounter took place in jail.

“What’s this about anyway?” Cutler asks. When he said he’d be there if Tom needed anything, he didn’t expect to find the kid in his office so soon.

Tom shrugs awkwardly, says something about good vampires, bad vampires and dead vampires. Apparently the first two are parts of an equation that has an invariable result. Or _had_ , if Cutler has played his cards right.

Tom keeps talking. There is definitely a belated thank you in there somewhere. For someone who grew up in a camper van, Tom is frightfully polite.

“I told you,” Cutler interrupts, “not all vampires are monsters. Some of us want what everyone wants. A quiet life. A normal life.” He almost believes that, too.

Tom nods because he understands. 

“I fell in love last week,” he says out of the blue.

The corners of Cutler’s mouth quirk up. Tom makes it sound like it’s a tragedy. Most of love stories are, though.

“That’s… great?” That’s the bloody Grimpen Mire; he is not prepared to sort out the boy’s personal shit. Though, to be fair, the next thing that comes out of Tom’s mouth pretty much robs Cutler of any coherent thought.

“‘S all right, I s’pose. But she’s a half-demon, and I almost died.”

“Oh,” says Cutler, a full minute later. “I can see how that can put a damper on things.”

Tom slumps his shoulders, mutters something unintelligible and turns to leave. Cutler was never great at making friends, but faking things has been his specialty since forever, and if this isn’t an opportune moment, he doesn’t know what is.

“Hey, Tom,” he says, with just enough hesitation to make it look believable. “If you need to– you know, talk. About anything. Not just vampires and their world domination plans. We could do that sometime.”

\--

The thing about Tom is that he cares about everything. Really, everything. He’s the type of person that would go around taking kittens off trees all day long if he could. Cutler wonders if that particularly annoying brand of sensitivity comes from his condition or his horror-flick-worthy backstory or he’s just that exasperating all by himself. He also wonders when exactly it was that he stopped caring.

Maybe when he decided that he wanted that Aston Martin instead of the tin can that he was driving that looked like the entire Blitz had taken place inside it. 

Maybe he never did.

Maybe he was an awkward, self-absorbed child who grew up to be a selfish prick and is completely fine with that. Being selfish doesn’t make you evil. It just straightens your priorities.

“How come you don’t hate werewolves?” Tom asks.

Cutler gives him a big speech about diversity and everybody’s right to be themselves and all that jazz, but the real answer is far simpler. He doesn’t know. He just doesn’t. Once, after a dog fight, Hal locked him up in a cage with a sleeping lyco still inside. The stench was overwhelming and Hal gave him some annoying pep talk, and the bars were wide enough for Hal to put his hand through and do things to Nick that were illegal back then. That night pretty much tops the weirdest nights of his life list and guest stars in the top five of both the best and the worst nights as well. So no, he doesn’t hate lycos. He’s not even that much scared of them anymore. What he is doing, he is doing because there is no one else. If he were completely honest, he’d say that the only thing worse than vampires is humans, not werewolves, not by a long shot. But the beasties are essential to his plan, so here goes nothing.

\--

Tom tells him the story of how he became a werewolf on their third meeting after about the fortieth round of “McNair said this, McNair said that” when Cutler finally gives up and asks.

“I know he weren’t really me Dad,” Tom says, “but I ain’t never had anyone else and anyway, it ain’t about blood, right?”

“Right,” Cutler says, and thinks: _wrong_ , because everything is always about that. 

Then Tom tells him about the other werewolves, the parents of the infamous War Child. His one-time pack for, like, five minutes in his imagination. Tom is really good at seeing things that are not there. 

“Ghosts are brilliant,” he says – and where did that come from? Weren’t they just talking about George and what’s-her-name?

Cutler glances at his watch. Oh. Right. He’s stopped listening about five minutes ago.

“They can move stuff with their mind an’ all,” Tom continues. “D’you think vampires can be ghosts?”

“That would just be unnatural.” It’s not like Cutler has never imagine having all the classic vampire powers. Unfortunately, even he knows they don’t live in a Coppola film. 

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. “I was told werewolves can’t either.”

Now there’s a thought. “Why? Do you want to?”

Tom doesn’t answer, but his silence is eloquent enough. Cutler thinks he could tell him a thing or two about father figures and holding on to the past, but what’s the point of giving advice to someone who’s about to become someone else’s science project?

“That day,” Tom says, and doesn’t bother explaining because there’s only one _that_ day for both of them so far; the next _that_ day is in the making. “It were all for a really stupid reason. Me friends forgot me birthday.” 

Cutler blinks, at a loss for words. It’s alarming how frequently Tom manages to derail the train of his thought.

“But then,” Tom adds, “it turned out they didn’ know. ‘Cause I ain’t never told them.”

Cutler does the only thing he can do under the circumstances: he bursts out laughing. Luckily, Tom is too uncomplicated to find it insulting. He joins Cutler, and they laugh, and Cutler doesn’t rely on breathing as much as Tom does, so he lasts longer – and no, this is not a competition.

\--

Allison comes as a surprise. They make a cute couple, canonically mawkish, but this ship is sinking faster than the Titanic and with as many special effects. Some things are better in theory.

And yet.

He remembers Hal saying exasperatedly: The mess you make of _everything_. And he remembers asking: Me, what did I do?

The answer is of course _nothing_. This was the one thing that never failed to make Hal angry. Inaction. Doubt. 

He wants to say: How do you like me now? Take a proper look at all the best-laid plans.

Except no one is watching and no one is listening.

Which is for the best because sometimes Cutler feels sorry for Tom. But what’s a little bloodshed if it leads to international fame (for both of them, it should be duly noted)? That’s how history is made. 

Maybe, if he feels generous enough, he will have them add a small statue of a dog upon his pedestal when he gets that much desired monument to himself. 

Just as long as there are no more surprises.

 

_November 21 – December 6, 2012_


End file.
